


Gossamer

by mtothedestiel



Series: The Shining Throne [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Changelings, Consort Yuuri, Downworlders, Established Relationship, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Intimacy, King Victor Nikiforov, Knight Yuuri, M/M, Nephilim, Romance, Seelie Court, Top Katsuki Yuuri, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 21:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtothedestiel/pseuds/mtothedestiel
Summary: Being King of the Seelie Court can be a tiresome venture. Victor looks to his knight consort to ease his burdens.





	Gossamer

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, so I was cleaning out my google docs and realized I’d been sitting on this almost completed fic idea for like a year! So please enjoy! 
> 
> This AU falls firmly under what I would call “modern fantasy” and may call to mind certain elements of another popular fantasy series also featuring nephilim. I really just wanted to enjoy Fae!Victor who does as he pleases and has little time for the boring morality of Men, so don’t worry about too much plot interfering with future installments. This is all about the romance and the costume changes.

It is a bright and moonlit night that finds the Seelie King and his knight consort leaving the throbbing interior of an underground nightclub, having just completed a tedious errand.

“These nephilim waste our time with their Christian battles,” Victor grumbles as they put some distance between themselves and the humans loitering in the night air, “Their leader plays at God and their enemy the Devil.  Neither are concerns of my court.”

“As you say, my King.”

Victor brushes invisible lint off the shoulder of his dreadfully uncomfortable mortal clothing.

“Ugh. I need to shed this awful glamour, and soon. The mere  _ suggestion  _ that I would allow a man made textile to clothe my person makes me want to vomit.”

“Of course, my King.”

Victor considers his consort as they turn the corner onto a street blessedly free of drunken mortals. 

“You are quite taciturn since we finished our business, Yuuri,” Victor observes, invoking his companion’s true name now that they are alone, “What perturbs you so?”

Awaiting his answer, Victor continues down the alley until at last they reach the hallowed ground where the veil between realms stretches thin.

“Only that the nephilim would dare to host this meeting at a site so unworthy of your beauty,” Yuuri says after a moment's pause.

The taste of Yuuri’s half-truth is an oily bitterness on the back of Victor’s tongue, but he allows it to pass and instead hums, pleased. 

“You always say such sweet things, my love.”

Victor let’s his dampened power bleed into the ground beneath their feet, and through the veil his kingdom calls back. A soft breeze kicks up, caressing Victor’s cheek and stirring dead leaves where they lie on the pavement. 

Beside him, Yuuri waits, ever steadfast.

Victor sighs wistfully, cupping his lover’s chin in a long fingered hand.  

“The only consolation of setting foot in this damned realm is seeing your eyes as I remember them,” he admits.  Yuuri’s gaze drops to the pavement where an unearthly moss is slowly encroaching. 

“They’re just plain brown, Victor,” he says quietly, a very human blush painting his cheek. 

“Beautiful,” Victor insists, brooking no argument, “Like rich earth left unspoiled in spring.  The eyes that thawed my cold and ancient heart.”

The ugly noise of the city fades, in its place the chirp of cicadas and the breath of wind through the forest. When Victor next looks away from his consort’s visage it is to the wooded halls of his domain. He pulls a deep breath of blessedly clean air and feels his full strength thrum through his veins like quicksilver.

“Come,” Victor says, stroking his thumb over Yuuri’s cheek one last time, “We’ve had a trying day. Let us seek our rest.”

“As you wish, my King.” 

Victor proceeds, and Yuuri follows.

Between one dappled patch of moonlight and the next Victor’s glamour splinters, and his ash blonde hair flickers from the tightly shorn human style to a river of silver that drapes beyond his waist.  His sterile grey suit peels away from his lustrous skin like dead birch bark. In its place uncountable threads of spider silk bloom in pink and lilac, draping over the King’s pale limbs in a robe too ethereal to be touched by human flesh.  From the canopy above dewdrops fall to form a circlet of crystal upon his brow, and beneath his bare feet vivid green moss rises to cushion his every step. 

Yuuri’s mortal glamor has also faded, his black suit chipped away like so many shed beetle skins. Instead armor, befitting a knight of the Seelie court, clads his lithe figure.  It shifts before the gaze, one moment glass, the next stone, then blue-black steel, then the dark grain of oak. At his hip lies his sword, a blessed blade to be raised only in defense of his King. Beneath the soft fall of his jet black hair Yuuri’s eyes shimmer gold where the glamor had returned them to their mortal cinnamon brown.   

“Beautiful,” Victor murmurs, just to see Yuuri blush again.

“Only your love has made me so,” his consort replies, equally soft as they reach the hall the Court proper.

“Welcome home, Your Majesty,” a courtier greets Victor, then to Yuuri, “Welcome home, honored knight.”

The courtier dips his pearlescent wings in a deep bow befitting Victor’s birthright. Victor accepts his rightful due with a benevolent nod of his head. He continues his leisurely path towards his chambers with Yuuri at his side, the servant following a respectful step behind.

“Tell me, has any ill wind cast its breath among the Seelie in my absence?”

“No, Your Majesty,” the nymph replies, “The moon is out, and all are at peace, or up to mischief, as is their wont.”  

The barest trace of a smile plays over Victor’s lips.  

“As it should be,” he replies, “I will hear the best tales over my breakfast, but I’m afraid the humans have tired me too much with their foolishness to enjoy any frolicking of my own tonight.”

“A pity, my King.”

A few turns from the grand hall and the cathedral of tangled oak and rowan thins to a delicate passage of birch. They reach the end of the mossy path and come face to face with a tangled warp and weft of silver bark and pale green leaves, the young trees standing in proud defense of their King’s abode.

At Victor’s silent request the trees unweave their branches, shrinking back to grant their master entrance to his private bower. Victor strokes a silver trunk in thanks as he passes.

“Draw a bath, then leave us,” Victor orders the courtier, “My knight will tend to me this evening.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

At the lip of the natural granite basin that serves as Victor’s bath his servant kneels and hums a simple tune to summon a hot spring from its path deep below the earth. Crystal clear water bubbles up to the ground at the courtier’s feet, streaming into the white stone bath until the tub is brimming. Victor eyes the steaming water with a indolent sense of anticipation as he sips from a flute of golden nectar. While his strength only waxes in his perpetuity, the effort of stepping into the human realm only grows more tiresome with each visit. Mortals are just so... _ uninteresting _ . 

His courtier bows again and takes his leave, leaving Victor alone with his consort at last. 

“Would you lend a hand, my love?” Victor requests as he approaches the edge of the tub, “I would so hate to slip.”

The edge of Yuuri’s mouth curls in amusement, but he indulges Victor nonetheless, offering his strong arm for Victor’s balance. As Victor steps into the bath his robe dissolves into a thousand white rose petals, settling on the surface of the pearlescent water like snow and scenting the air with their delicate perfume. Yuuri presses a courtly kiss to his knuckles and releases him as Victor sinks into the water with a sigh of bliss. With the gentle slope of stone at his back Victor allows the tedium of the day to seep out of his muscles, his hair pooling in the water like a spill of mercury.

Once he has rinsed away the dreadful murk of the human realm Victor considers the row of sparkling crystal vessels that dot the mossy edge of his bath. Over the centuries he has accumulated quite the collection of them, each unique carafe filled with some rare liquid or powder to suit his fancy. Serums and salts to soothe the mind, or tinctures and tonics to spark dreams or draw visions, whatever need might strike the Seelie King in his private moments. Victor has his eye on a stoppered bottle kept nearest his reach, its contents less rare but gratefully taken advantage of. A chip out of its handle betrays its frequent use. 

A pleasing little shiver of anticipation runs down Victor’s spine.

His consort is knelt by the lip of the tub, ready to tend to his King’s every whim.

Victor has a different kind of tending in mind this evening.

“Yuuri…” 

“Yes, my King?”

“Join me.”

At Victor’s command Yuuri’s armor melts from his body like ice under the sun. Bare, Yuuri slips into the bath with hardly a splash, wading the short distance to Victor’s waiting arms. Victor draws his beloved in close, combing damp fingers through Yuuri’s ink black hair. Victor drinks in the sight of Yuuri’s nude figure shamelessly, admiring his strong limbs and firm chest. It brings a smile to his lips, one Yuuri returns, soft and uncertain.

“My darling, I love you so,” Victor murmurs, voice low and reverent, “It still takes my breath away, knowing you are mine to keep.”

“Only yours,” Yuuri promises, pulling Victor's fingers to his lips again, “As you are mine.”

Victor laughs, pleased with his lover’s boldness. To claim ownership over the Seelie King! What a stunning notion. He tugs Yuuri into a kiss, his heart lighter than eiderdown.

They recline together in the basin, Yuuri pressing Victor against the unforgiving stone as they kiss. Victor relishes the weight, delighting in his consort’s strength. In being pinned like a butterfly, but only because he wills it to be so. He slants their mouths together, greedy for his Yuuri. Greedy for the softness of his mouth, and the hardness blossoming against his belly.

As Yuuri tastes the pale skin of his throat Victor fumbles for the vials at the edge of his bath. He thumbs the stopper from his chosen bottle and offers it to Yuuri. The oil that pours from the well-used vial is golden, thick and syrupy.

“If I am yours,” Victor says, the remnants of laughter warming to something more amorous, “Then you should have me.”

Yuuri smears the oil on his fingers, blinking slowly at the sight of Victor spreading his legs. Offering himself.

“As my King commands.”

Victor’s head rolls back onto the mossy edge of the tub as Yuuri opens him. Yuuri is gentle, almost courtly in his fingering, which brings a curl of amusement to Victor’s lips even as it sends a shiver down his spine. Victor watches his consort with half lidded eyes, slipping a hand down his own belly until he can grasp his cock. He’s been half hard since Yuuri first slid into the bath with him, more so now that the promise of his lover’s cock is only moments away. Victor indulges in a few strokes of his own hand as Yuuri prepares him for even greater ecstasies yet to come. He’s open now on two of Yuuri’s fingers, Yuuri’s free hand drawing slick circles on the inside of Victor’s thigh that threaten to push him to the brink of madness.

“Enough,” Victor gasps, releasing himself lest he reach his pleasure too quickly, “I am ready for you, love.”

Yuuri’s breath is gone heavy, charged with desire as he withdraws his fingers. The proof of his arousal presses firmly to Victor’s thigh under the water. Yuuri helps Victor turn onto his belly, his hands hungry on Victor’s hips.

It’s its own kind of lustful thrill, knowing how the beauty of his flesh entices his lover.  With an effortless flick Victor swirls his hair over one shoulder, leaving the long, pale expanse of his back bare for Yuuri’s heated gaze.  

“You know how I like it best,” Victor murmurs, the submissive tilt of his chin a shameless invitation.  

He can hear the indulgent sound of Yuuri slicking himself, then his lover’s cock is pressing into him. 

Victor exhales and his body  _ gives _ .

“Oh,  _ yes.”  _

It’s sharply erotic, every time. An ache and a primal hunger, intertwined like dense ivy. Victor loosens his tethers and allows the mindless  _ feeling _ to swamp him. This is not the first time, or even the thousandth time, that he has known Yuuri in this way, but still. Time slows. Seconds become hours, lifetimes of sensation for a mortal washing over Victor in the space of a panted breath. The whisper touches of flower petals, still skimming the surface of the bath, brushing against his skin. The sweet stretch and burn of being taken. The hot puff of Yuuri’s breath against his back as he eases forward until there’s not a spare inch between them.

“Victor,” Yuuri breathes into the silk of his hair, the tremble of his fingers at Victor’s hips betraying his composure. Victor’s breath catches at the sound of his true name on his Yuuri’s lips, as it always does. It is a dangerous thing, to be known, and Yuuri knows all of that Victor has to give of himself.

“Ah, my Yuuri,” Victor pants, settling into the sensation of being filled, “Give me what I need.”

“Always,” Yuuri promises. He withdraws, slowly, then fucks in again, this time with more force. Yuuri does this again…

...and again…

...and  _ again _ , until Victor is rocking against the edge of the bath with his lover’s efforts, each drive forward drawing a new and more wanton moan from Victor’s lips. 

Victor takes his pleasure, arching his back into Yuuri’s thrusts as he’s penetrated. He does nothing to stifle his cries, tossing his head back and letting whatever revelers of the night might be nearby how well their knight consort sees to his King’s bed. 

“ _ Ah _ , Yuuri,  _ more _ ,” Victor commands, as though there is some imaginary gap remaining between his ass and Yuuri’s cock. As though Yuuri could be any deeper inside him. Still his lover hears him, fucking harder until Victor is near senseless and his own cock throbs with need.

“Victor—“ Yuuri’s brow is pressed between Victor’s shoulder blades as he labors, his breath hot and close. He leaves his death grip on Victor’s hip to take his cock in hand instead, thumbing under the head before stroking him in time with his thrusts.

“Will you come for me?” Yuuri entreats, his voice sweet and low in Victor’s ear, “Will you let me see your final ecstasy? My love, my  _ liege—“ _

With one last drag of Yuuri’s fist on his cock Victor finds his release, his climax a primordial flame where he’s surrounded and filled by his lover. If Victor had a soul it would leave him now, a bird taken wing into the ecstatic night. Victor shivers and shudders and all the while Yuuri never ceases in his tender efforts, wringing every drop of bliss from Victor’s immortal frame that he can.

When Victor’s eyes open again to the present realm, it is to the flutter of fragile wings. The water of his bath is now clear, the outpouring of Victor’s climax having transformed the white rose petals of his former robe into a flock of butterflies. They dissipate like seafoam, vanishing into the trees on pure white wings.

Victor exhales, pure contentment, then speaks with intent to satisfy his lover.

“My Yuuri,” he purrs, guiding Yuuri with a hand at the back of his neck, “My sweet one, you should come.”

Ever obedient to his King, Yuuri rocks into Victor thrice more before stiffening, a soft, broken sound escaping his lips as he spills deep. Victor allows a few more circling thrusts of Yuuri’s hips before urging him to stillness against Victor’s back. 

After a few final heaving breaths Yuuri slips out of him, collapsing at Victor’s side with a lazy grin. Victor indulges his lover with a kiss, tasting the euphoria off of Yuuri’s lips. His consort knows when he has given his best, and indeed Victor has been excellently fucked this night. Victor slips fingers between his own legs, gasping into Yuuri’s mouth when he touches where Yuuri has left him tender and open, still slick with oil and now his lover’s seed. He savors the lingering soreness, proof of Yuuri’s ardor. Yuuri observes Victor’s explorations with a laconic sort of pride, even as his eyes begin to flutter with lethargy.

“The hour grows late. Let us see ourselves to bed,” Victor suggests, pressing a kiss to his consort’s temple. They step out of the bath hand in hand, Victor kneeling briefly to send the hot spring back to its natural course with a soft thanks and blessing. The water slinks off of their limbs and back into the draining basin, every drop eager to return to its underground river. When Victor rises, they are both dry. 

Yuuri tends to his hair, braiding the silver strands into a simple plait with a few sprigs of chamomile woven in to bring sweet dreams. They remain bare, modesty being of little concern to their kind, and the intimacy it’s own kind of pleasure. Yuuri tucks Victor’s braid over his shoulder when he is finished, pressing a tender kiss to the crook of his neck where it is exposed. Victor leans back, enjoying Yuuri’s warmth amid the cool night breezes that wind their way freely through the Seelie hall.

All is well.

Nearly.

“Will you tell me now, my love, what was bothering you earlier?” Victor asks once they are curled together on his bed of wild sage and baby’s breath, the stars twinkling through the canopy overhead, “Why you made me taste a lie, instead of truth freely given?”

Yuuri bows his head, ashamed. 

“Forgive me, my King,” he entreats, “I only held my tongue because we may not have been alone. I would not have you weakened because of my lack of strength.”

Victor presses a kiss to his consort’s brow, a benediction.

“All is forgiven,” he promises, “But speak freely with me now.”

“I...I am worried.” Yuuri’s admission gives Victor pause.

“The nephilim grow desperate, and I do not care for how they look at you,” Yuuri continues, lips pursed, “As if they are hungry. As if you are a force they might conquer, when they should know only fear and awe standing in your presence.”

Victor sighs, wishing he could soothe the furrow in Yuuri’s brow, but Victor is not blind to the ambitions of men, and a Fae cannot lie, even to protect the one he loves most.

“Men will always covet power which is not theirs to claim,” he murmurs instead, “But they are only a moment in time, and we are eternal.”

“I am only one knight,” Yuuri says, “And I would lay down my life for yours in a moment, but the nephilim are many, and they are not without strength. If I were to fail you—“

“Do not fret, my Yuuri,” Victor soothes him, stroking fingers through his jet black hair, “It is not the Seelie way. We are far more dangerous to anything that might cross our path than they are to us.”

“I was not always Seelie,” comes Yuuri’s reply, an old sore point. Victor traces his fingers over a slim scar just below Yuuri’s ribs, the skin gone smooth and shiny after the passage of years.

“You are the guardian of the Shining Throne, tested in iron and blood,” Victor reminds him, “There is no worthier knight to serve at my side, nor a worthier lover to safeguard my heart, whatever your origin.”

“As long as I live I will never let them touch you.”

Yuuri’s eyes are bright, and his voice firm. The truth of his vow is sweet on the back of Victor’s tongue.

“I know, my darling,” Victor replies, setting his head to rest over the slow beat of his beloved’s heart, “If that is what you will, so shall it be.”

The forest of the faerie hall breathes around them, the whispering breeze and the hum of nighttime insects lulling the Seelie King and his lover to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This work is part of a series, which I have some plans to add to! So if you enjoyed this taste of the Seelie King and his changeling lover I hope you’ll subscribe to The Shining Throne!


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